Guess What?

Ladies, you know the feeling. Men, probably more so.

My wife said she was late.
“Late for what?”, I respectfully reply.
“Duh”, was her only response.

Crap.

I learn all this at work. Work, is well work. I try anything to release my mind from trivialities and welcome any distractions, from work.

This, on the other hand, is not my idea of a “happy distraction”. A “happy bomb” is a better word for this distraction and I have nine hours left of self-piting work of guilt/horror/anxiety. My idea of a good day.

I guess I should mention here that we already have three kids, a mortgage, a puppy, and in-laws to already deal with. If our plate is not already full, why not adding to it, no? Yes, no. Let’s not go there.

I finally end my grueling shift of what I like to call, Other Happy Distractions; no need for detials.

Now I’m driving home from work, stopping at the store for a pregnancy test and toilet paper, attempting not to pass out and lose control of my vehicle (you’ve all been there, I’m sure). Pregnancy test and toielt paper. Something is ironic about this but I can’t place it.

I make my way to where the tests are shelved and my horror distinctively heightens. I define myself as a secure male. I will, and have, picked up tampons for my wife and I’m not embarassed to do it. Unnamed grocery store, fire the person who decided where to shelve stock. A male walking into an area only designed for woman (tampons, pads, pregnancy tests, hemroid creme, ect.) is only asking for a male-horomone-enhanced-meltdown. My first thought, Where’s the camera? That is just an uncomfortable area for a male.

I grab a cheap brand, Answers, and bolt out of the area in search for a more desirable product of purchase; maybe. I’m rocking around the store, rather large, attempting to find said toilet paper. I welcome this thought. However, I can’t find them. Being alone, pregnancy test in hand, everyone can see the one item I have to purchase so far. And they know the feeling. Look after look of shock, then pity, then anger, then sadness. How do I place it all? I can’t find the damn toilet paper!

Finally, I give up. I find an isle with an employee and swallow my pride; if I still had it at this point. Seriously, this guy had a mullet. Then, as I started with my inquiry, his mullet-sporting-head-judgemental-front-eyes actually judged me. Judged. Me. Granted, I was asking where the toilet paper was with the hand holding the pregnancy test. This only looked too weird. If only someone had taken a picture or video, I would have posted it. Probably not, but maybe.

I hear him chuckle as I scurry away, shoving anger past the large ball of anxiety down my gullet. Snatch the toilet paper, head to the U-scan, averting all eye contact, and haul out.

I get home to kids in bed, thank God, to my wife already in the bathroom applying cream to her beautiful face. She quickly looks away as I walk in, attempting to conceal the cream on her face blinding me, and says hello. She proceeds to tell me the wonderful kids story of the day, and any other day would be more than happy to listen, and I said, “Yea, honey, that’s great. Pee on the stick.” What can I say, I’m a romantic.

Test comes back negative, I think. Hard to tell sometimes with the devil-red lines; so condescendingly “ha-ha” about it. Now way, there’s no second red line. Score!

Moral of the story: Don’t Do Drugs!

Also, how would like your significant other to sport this t-shirt to drop the bomb? It should be a T-Rex holding a baby, that would generate the same response from a male.